To Find My Soul
by Apollo Pompano
Summary: Various drabbles. Austria-centric, though not very clear at times. Vague and existential, as is my specialty. These are a collection of random stories I've written to try and get ready for longer works.
1. Fear

_So I've been writing. However, I haven't been writing anything all that quality filled, or lengthy enough to be considered a one-shot. Thus, I have decided to smush all of my work into a series of drabbles._

_The prompt for this piece was 'Write about fear."_

_I don't own Hetalia._

* * *

And he played his music.

Pale hands rested on pale keys, fingers drumming along to his rhythm, drumming along to his heartbeat, drumming along to the existence of life itself. Questioning, questioning.

Seeking answers yet only finding inquiries.

The music sped up as his fingers moved; faster and faster in a flurry of movement. He rocked back and forth, immersed in his thoughts, immersed in the music that was his thoughts. Was his every action and word and sound. Was.

Faster and faster, quicker and quicker, fingers now jumping from key to key, pressing harder, movements now a blur. He played and played and played and he frowned and bit his lip and his eyebrows furrowed and his muscles tensed and-

He hit the wrong note, and froze.

Opening his eyes and blinking he was pulled from his mind, pulled from his delusions and dreams and escapes and he was brought back to the here and now and he knew.

He knew because it had been what he was running so far away from. Why he played so much, with so much passion, with so much hope for a way out. Why the time spent away from those ivory keys was filled with trauma and despair and disappointment.

He knew that he was dying.

And Roderich Edelstein was afraid.


	2. Father

_Second drabble. Te prompt was to finish the sentence "My Father is..."_

_This is an Space!AU drabble. Space!Roddy was part of a family of cartographers until a big fiasco involving selling military maps to the french made him lose all respect for his profession. He ended up leaving home bound for nowhere in particular. He also changed his last name to avoid being found by his family. Then later he joined the Axis, a rogue pirate ship lead by an ex-military commander with a grudge (Ludwig, hur). Then stuff happens._

_Anyways, this takes place around the time he decides to leave home. _

_I don't own Hetalia._

* * *

His father is a rich man. His father is an intelligent man, an intellect among normality. His mind and his drive brought him his fortune and his wife, and the stuffy austrian currently staring solemnly out the window at the nothingness beyond. He is but a product of his father's success, nothing more. Never meant to be anything more.

He's lived on his father's wealth since before he was conceived. It was expected that he would continue to do so, would continue by taking over what was considered rightfully his. A hand shifts, and the brunette places its palm under his chin with an elegant stature.

He is who he is because he was taught to be so. Never in his life has he ever stepped out of the boundaries given to him by his class, given to him by the people he once called 'family'. He has not tested his limits, and, he sometimes thinks, perhaps he doesn't have any. Perhaps he could be a great man. An astounding man. A man who surpasses the very flesh and blood that gave him life itself. Perhaps.

Violet eyes close and open, and the austrian glances down at his rustic, wooden end-table before gazing dismally into the blackness of the universe once more. He ponders.

If a star was birthed as a star, he wonders, can it become anything but? Is it chained to its destiny by simply existing? By simply shining as it always has, burning atoms and growing hotter, hotter, hotter?

If so, he figures, it would be appropriate then to change its destiny by ceasing to exist. But how solemn.

Displeasure tugs downward at the corners of his mouth.

How solemn for that to be the only way. A star is a star is a star, no matter what else it attempts to become. He supposes that he will always be himself until he too, ceases to exist. He thinks again, and then...

But a star has parts. It is - by composition - made up of millions and billions of tiny things; tiny parts of its life and its soul and its_ everything_. It could slaughter a section of its being and remain alive...but it would change. It would forcibly alter itself into something that was the same yet different. Perhaps it would remain in its predestined track, but would gain the ability to stop and go whenever it pleased. Perhaps it could gain an ounce of control. All it had to do was alter its makeup.

An idea sprouts in his mind, and he is unaware when or where the seed had been sown. He decides, and it is the first thing he's decided in quite some time.

Roderich stands, and with the grace he's always possessed he walks toward the door and opens it. He glances back at the seat and the table and the window looking out at nothing yet everything and he walks. He leaves determined. He leaves willing.

He leaves Roderich Carnuntum in his seat to cease existence.

He walks out with his star, his prize, his gemstone.

His Edelstein.

* * *

Notes: Edelstein = 'gemstone'.


	3. Briefcase

_Hello. Me again. This one was a Writer's Craft Prompt. We had to write a story based on this black leather bag that looked a little like a briefcase. Alas._

_Sorry for the most likely awful German._

_I don't own Hetalia._

* * *

Violet eyes gazed out at the dreary Tuesday rain with silent solemnity. Their owner, a stoic, regal man of germanic descent sat stiffly by the window, observing the beings below as they moved about their lives. Sporting an odd yet befitting grace, he lifted his right hand to his chin, fisting the fingers and resting his weight onto the leather-covered limb. His left hand - of no use at this point in time - remained idle on his lap, digits motionless within their identical gloved casing.

He donned a sharp, black ensemble that reeked of formality. His back was straight, proper, the way he carried himself lacked charisma but boasted status. It contrasted greatly with the dull brown of the aged wallpaper in the room, baroque designs faded yet still visible.

A small _tick, tick, tock_ could be heard if one listened, echoing softly off the walls of the room. The man's pristine, night-coloured loafers gently toed at the ground, coming into contact with the slouched object placed neatly next to him. He glanced down at the satchel, eyes leaving the window and all it's mysteries.

Would this prove to be worthwhile? What lay within the worn bag was business, knowledge that could perhaps be used to better the workings of the world. His appointment today would either confirm or deny the 'perhaps'.

"Edelstein? Herr Edelstein?"

Black suit stood, clutching his case and his nerves, making his way towards the cherry-stained door that would inevitably decide his fate. He was led through by an aged professor of fifty-three, greying hair tied neatly back into a ponytail with a velvet ribbon. The man walked ahead instinctually, leading them both towards a heavyset entrance at the end of the hallway. Black suit looked around curiously, marveling at the detailed architecture that greatly contrasted the dull, common waiting room he'd been in just a moment before. It was as if he was suddenly in another world.

"Beyond this door, Herr Edelstein." The guide instructed, opening the wooden aperture with practiced ease. His accent was heavy, and black suit found it both soothing and painful to listen to. With a small bow, he thanked the older man, bracing himself as he walked through the entryway, satchel in front of him and at the ready. He muttered feigned confidence and felt the bag knock against his knees, holding his greatest chance at anything decent.

He approached what appeared to be a heavy, regal desk, that of which behind sat another man, younger but still showing signs of age. On his breast hung stars and crosses - medals of wartime courage - polished and flashing in the dim light. Herr Edelstein - Black suit - swallowed, his workbag suddenly seeming too heavy in his carefully gloved hands.

"Ah, Herr Edelstein, ja? Willkommen."

The voice was calm, collected, and Herr Edelstein made closer to the desk with promptness. He managed a formal nod towards the superior, greeting him with a business tone. Though his features would not show it, he was quite nervous.

The older man nodded towards the satchel, a hint of amusement on his experienced features. "Well, show me your proposal, ja? We do not have all day, good sir." He stood, then, the scuffing sound of the chair resonating through the room.

Herr Edelstein worked quickly, placing the black leather bag on the desk, wishing himself one last oath of luck before beginning. Leather met leather as he reached into the carrier of his dreams, producing a browned, slightly crumpled roll of paper and spreading it across the table, inky lines finally seeing the dim light of the room.

It was a map.

Herr Edelstein swallowed, flattening the paper with careful intent. It crinkled under his touch, stirring slightly upon the wooden counter and drawing a long look from the man with medals. There was a pause, in which the man nodded. Herr Edelstein began.

Yes, it was a map, he explained, forcing his fingers not to fidget and looking his superior in the eye. Purely topographical, detailed. Customizable though, and for that it was superior. He pushed his shoulders back as he explained. This map, this image of location, contained everything one needed to know about anything one needed to know about. Geologic make-up, indigenous species, residences, secret bases. Who lived where and what was what. 'Ohne rand', he called it. Border-less mapping.

The man with the medals nodded in even intervals as Herr Edelstein spoke, remaining stone faced, save for a quiet fire behind his eyes. It nearly went unnoticed, but black suit - by some odd stroke of luck - managed to raise his head at the precise moment and catch the look of genuine interest. It only drove him onward.

He'd made this map, he stressed, voice rising in confidence as he entered his field of forte, and he could make another one. Many other ones, if it was wished, of whatever they wanted for whatever they wanted. They would have these maps. They would win this war.

His back was straight, stiff, and he increased the weight of his words by driving his hand into the table. Ending his eloquently accented tirade, Herr Edelstein stopped, looking through his aged lenses at his superior. He chanced at his bag, still lying lifeless and empty, and then looked back.

His superior was silent, thinking it over. Black suit dared not breathe. Then, breaking the trance, the man nodded.

"Herr Edelstein, do you know how long we have been waiting for something like this?" Herr Edelstein shook his head. "A very long while."

The man grinned, clapping his hands once, twice, looking at black suit like he was made of gold. Black suit stood, blinking for a minute as he absorbed the words that were being thrown at him. Slowly, he smiled.

"You will see us again, Herr Edelstein." His superior gave him a pat on the back as black suit timidly returned the map to its place in his satchel. "How does Friday sound?" Black suit agreed to the proposal, shakily gripping that dark holder of fortunes and bowed slightly. It was a great honour, he'd said.

"The pleasure is mine, ja?" The man laughed, waving to black suit as he skittered through the door. In the hallway, Herr Edelstein ran without looking back, his lips twitching. He sped past the dull waiting room, leaping into the rain that was Tuesday with a smile on his face. He passed the people on the street, grey and ugly and painfully dull. He laughed, for once aware that the bag in his hands, black in the physical sense, was far more colourful and promising then the rest of the world.

* * *

_*** Notes:_

_Ja - Yes_

_Herr - Mister (Mr.)_

_Willkommen - Welcome_


End file.
